


Sentimental

by Caffeinevampire



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Kuroken through the ages, M/M, ill add tags when I update lmao, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6914107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffeinevampire/pseuds/Caffeinevampire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenma was not a sentimental person. He did not keep things based on the value of their memories alone.</p>
<p>Except he did. He always had.</p>
<p>And it suddenly dawned on Kenma how different his life would be without Kuroo beside him every day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentimental

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, despite the fact that I already don't have enough time to do most things and have exams in just short of three weeks, I thought it was a good idea to start something else ;-; WHY DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF???
> 
> But I couldn't leave the overflow of ideas that were coming to me so I just went with it.
> 
> Updates will be slow as I'm working on three other things (one of which I haven't even posted yet WHY DO I DO THIS) but I promise that there will be updates ^-^
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy ~ :3 ♡

Kenma had never been a sentimental person. He thought nostalgia was a weakness – a pointless habit that people allowed themselves to indulge in. He kept himself detached from objects, always assessing their practicality before deciding whether or not to keep them. The closest he came to sentimentality was the hoard of video games and old consoles stacked under his bed. But he kept them because he _would_ use them; he would play his video games again, and again _and again_ , simultaneously keeping up with the new trends whilst showing his ‘vintage’ collection the love it deserved.

Kenma was not a sentimental person. He did not keep things based on the value of their memories alone.

_Except he did. He always had._

There was a chest tucked away in the corner of his room, crammed full of mundane objects he’d collected over the years, too precious to dispose of. He had a draw overflowing with Kuroo’s clothes and possessions – some things he wore and used when he stayed over, other things he'd grown out of months, _even years_ , ago. He even had a few photo albums that Kuroo had cello-taped all of their favourite pictures into and doodled all over.

And it suddenly dawned on Kenma how different his life would be without Kuroo beside him every day.

//

Kenma couldn't concentrate on his game. He shouldn't have even be playing it, but he was. It was late, later than he remembered it being, and he was supposed to be ready early in the morning. But he couldn't sleep. He couldn't allow his mind to wander either, but wandering it was. He stared at the bright screen, half-heartedly tapping at his PSP’s buttons. He couldn't even recall what had happened.

Sighing, he saved the game and hit the power button. The screen dimmed to black and he was plunged into darkness. _When had it got so dark?_ Fumbling towards his lamp, he knocked something over and it hit the floor with a dull thud. He just hoped it wasn't anything too important, like his PSP or phone. His groping fingers found the switch and his lamp flickered on, bathing his bedroom in warm light.

He scanned his bed rapidly, quickly locating his PSP, phone and 3DS. His other handheld consoles were packed away and his various other game controllers stayed with their consoles. He breathed a sigh of relief; nothing important had dropped to the floor. _But what had?_ He leaned over the side, his hair tickling his cheeks, and examined the floor.

A photo album was lying just out of reach, propped open. The corners of the pages were dog-earred – a bad habit Kuroo had developed to mark his favourite pages of books, or things he needed to remember – and had two photos cello-taped onto them. The first was a black and white selfie Kuroo had taken on his phone and insisted he loved so much it had to be printed. The older boy was grinning – smug about something they could no longer remember – with leaves tangled in his unkempt bedhead. One arm was dangled over Kenma who was leaning into him, a small smile playing on his lips. Red marker pen, scrawled in Kuroo’s messy handwriting, captioned the photo with a cheesy quote that he had liked: ‘ _keep smiling because life is a beautiful thing and there's so much to smile about.’_ Kuroo had a love for those kind of sappy quotes, but only Kenma (possibly Bokuto too) knew about it.

Kenma’s chest panged. The photo was painful to look at; it hurt him to remember everything he’d experienced with Kuroo. He was his childhood friend, his closest friend, his _best friend_. Kenma couldn't imagine doing anything without him and yet–

He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to push away the looming shadow darkening his thoughts. He directed his attention to the second photo instead. It was a blurry photo, taken by his mother, of him and Kuroo in his living room. Though the image was out of focus, it was easy to see how happy they both were. Kuroo was doubled over, arms clutched around his stomach, eyes crinkled and mouth stretched wide in laughter. Kenma’s shoulders were hunched, one hand raised to cover his mouth and nose, and cheeks tainted crimson. Neither of them could remember what had been so funny. When his mother showed them the photo and realised it was blurry, she had hastened to delete it, but Kuroo had politely asked if she could send him it beforehand. She had happily obliged.

‘ _Laughter is like music for the soul.’_ Kuroo had written underneath the photo. Sometimes Kenma really didn't understand why people thought he was cool; he was actually really, really lame. And a massive dork. It was laughable really.

Kenma sighed. He couldn't avoid thinking about it forever, especially when his room was littered with reminders. He always knew that it would happen some day – it was inevitable – he just wished it wasn’t happening so soon. That had _always_  been the problem with having a best friend, and someone he was _hopelessly_ in love with, who was a year older than him; Kuroo would graduate, move on with his life and leave him behind. And his graduation was in the morning. Kenma choked back a sob.

He scrabbled forwards to hastily close the photo album, his legs getting tangled in his blankets as he rushed. He tumbled to the floor with a thud and an “oof.” The blankets landed in a pile on his lower legs. Kenma remained motionless, slightly winded and too exhausted to move. He closed his eyes, though there was no danger of him falling asleep there; despite having no energy, his brain was running in overdrive. Cold air, coming from his marginally-cracked-open window, washed over him and he shivered, his thin t-shirt not enough to protect him against the intruding cold.

Huffing, he sat up. His body protested against the movement in the form of a dizzy spell, urging him to lay back down. He blinked and remained still until it faded before untangling his legs from his blankets and wrapping one of them around him. He could have shut the window, but habit encouraged him not to. It had started when he was eleven and Kuroo had found a way of scaling the wall below his window without breaking his neck. Since then, he’d developed an _annoying_ tendency to visit Kenma unannounced, mostly during the night when everyone should have been asleep. Sometimes Kenma _wasn't even awake_ to witness him breaking in through the window, but he’d wake to find his friend curled up at the foot of his bed, head buried beneath blankets, pillows or plushies. And Kuroo wondered why he had an unruly bedhead.

Kenma bit his lip. Every thought, every habit, led him back to Kuroo. There had been a time before his best friend, but it was a time that he could not remember. Every memory he possessed contained Kuroo. Every video game he’d played had another slot for Kuroo. The older boy was a lingering presence who’d been there every step of the way – through highs and lows – when no-one else gave Kenma a second glance. _How had Kuroo become so ingrained in his life?_

“People grow up. Things change. That's life, Kenma.” His mother had told him softly. But he didn't want that to be life. He didn't want things to change. He had been content with the way things were. Why couldn't they just stay the same? Kenma was afraid of change. He always had been. He had been terrified when they’d moved houses as a child. He had been frightened when Kuroo had approached him and befriended him. Each new year and change of school brought waves of debilitating panic. His fear of change was one of the many factors that had prevented him from confessing to Kuroo. More than that, he was petrified of his reaction.

Kenma sighed, resigning himself to his thoughts. He couldn't stop himself from thinking, couldn't keep it bottled up forever. His breaths came shakily, wracked with the sobs he’d tried to hold back. Kuroo was going to leave him. Kuroo was going to go to college and meet someone and move on without him. Kuroo would forget about him, _of course he would,_ because what reason would he have to remember him? He wasn't special like Kuroo. He didn't have any outstanding talents. He wasn't good with people. He wasn't really good at anything. And not for the first time, Kenma wondered why the hell Kuroo was friends with him anyway.

Trembling, Kenma stumbled to his feet and trudged towards the corner of his room. He rearranged a few of his possessions and pulled out the chest he kept concealed away. It was wooden – about thirteen inches long, ten inches deep and seven inches wide – and engraved with the tri-force symbol. Kuroo had bought it for him as a birthday gift to store his Zelda-related possessions and games, but he'd hoarded something more valuable in it instead.

Kenma opened the lid – too physically weak, _and lazy_ , to move the chest from its corner – and peered at its contents. Nostalgia was a weakness – a habit that people allowed themselves to indulge in. Kenma had never allowed himself to fall prey to nostalgia or sentimentality, but he’d always made exceptions for Kuroo. As his fingers closed around the first item, that was the feeling that rose in his chest – nostalgia.

The item was his first GameBoy, an object rendered useless after one particular day. It didn't have a use anymore – it hadn't for years – but he’d never forget that day with Kuroo.

//

_9 years ago_

“Kenma.” Kuroo said slowly, poking the younger boy’s face. The latter huffed in response, frowning at his GameBoy. He was playing Pokémon Gold for the fourth – _or was it the fifth?_ – time. He had every variation of the game so far and had spent his entire summer cycling through them all again.

“Kenma!” Kuroo repeated. Kenma nodded, acknowledging the calling of his name. His friend sighed, sitting down on the bench beside him. “Do you actually know how to speak to people?” He teased, nudging him gently.

“I speak to you.” Kenma replied, barely audible.

Kuroo crossed his arms. “People other than me.”

Kenma pouted. He didn't need to talk to anyone other than Kuroo. He guessed that he could – but he didn't need to. He thought for a moment, directing his character towards someone seething for a Pokemon battle. Then he nodded. “Yes. You walk up to them and press A.” Kenma said. He illustrated his point by clicking the A button as his character met their opponent.

Kuroo frowned before bursting into manic laughter, clutching his stomach and leaning against his friend. “Why did I expect anything else?!” He laughed. Kenma huffed, but a small smile tugged at his lips. He liked making Kuroo laugh. He had never had that ability before; people had only ever laughed at him, never with him or because he’d said something funny.

He turned his attention back to the Pokémon battle at hand, instructing his Arcanine to use Ember. He distantly registered Kuroo’s laughter die down and felt his chin rest against his shoulder. He tried to wriggle out from underneath it, but his friend refused to budge. Kenma huffed, glared to the side and continued the battle.

“How many times have you played this now?” Kuroo asked. Kenma could feel his jaw move against his collarbone as he spoke. He didn't like it. It felt _weird_ , and he wasn't used to people being so close; no-one had ever invaded his personal space as much as Kuroo did.

“Just a few times.” Kenma asked quietly. “Do you have to lean on me?”

“Yes, I want to watch you fight and adventure. Hey, wait-“ The tone of Kuroo’s voice sent a chill through Kenma; it usually meant he had an idea. “Maybe we should go on an adventure.”

“No.”

“Aw, come on Kenma!”

“No.” Kenma replied again, bringing his GameBoy closer to his face.

“Please!” He exhaled and thought for a moment. “I've been saving my pocket money. I could get you a new game.”

Kenma stared at his GameBoy screen, eyebrows furrowed into a frown. He really didn't like the sound of an “adventure,” but a new game was tempting. He’d had his eye on one for a while, but his mother had claimed that he needed to wait until his birthday as he already had more than enough games. _There was no such thing as “more than enough.”_

“Fine.” Kenma sighed. He defeated his opponent’s Meowth with another use of Ember and saved his game. Sighing again, he tucked his GameBoy into his pocket and glanced up at his friend. Kuroo was standing in front of him, clasping a long stick like a sword, with a mischievous smirk on his face. He had two plasters on his left cheek that were covering a battle wound (as Kuroo liked to call them) from earlier that day, and two more were criss-crossed on his knees. He was covered – from the tips of his unruly-mess-of-hair to the toes of his scuffed, worn shoes – with dirt.

Kenma glared down at his thin arms and clean clothes, not enjoying the prospect of returning battered and dirty. He huffed again. “Do we have to?”

“If you want a new game.” Kuroo nodded, reaching out to grab one of Kenma’s hands with his free one. When he refused to take his hand in turn, Kuroo wrapped his fingers around Kenma’s wrist instead, holding it loosely enough to not cause pain, but tightly enough that Kenma couldn't wriggle out of his grip. “Come on.”

Kuroo pulled Kenma gently along, though his enthusiasm was apparent. He kept glancing back at his friend with excited beams, which were only met with frowns. They came to an eventual halt at a nearby park.

The park was a canvas of colours and beauty. Swarms of trees, in a variety of heights and widths, littered the grounds, blooming shades of vibrant green, soft pink and whites. Wildlife decorated the grassland with light hues of rainbow colours. A pebbled path curved through the park and met an ornate bridge that arched across a thin river. A play-park designed for young children lay beyond the trees on the opposite bank.

“Where do you want to go first?” Kuroo asked eagerly.

‘ _Home_ ,’ Kenma thought bitterly.

“I know!” Kuroo exclaimed, dropping Kenma’s wrist. The latter was tempted to make a run for it, but he knew his friend would easily catch up to him and he was too lazy to run. He’d just have to be dragged along on an adventure instead. Kuroo charged towards the nearest tree, dropping his stick-sword, and scrabbled at its trunk. “I'm gonna climb this tree!”

“You might fall.” Kenma said, louder than he’d intended to. He was clutched with a sudden fear of seeing his only friend fall and break his neck. He hurried towards him, trying to swallow his worries. “Be careful.”

Kuroo smirked. “Don't worry! Cats always land on their feet.” He managed to position himself on the trunk so he could reach the lowest branch. Lurching forward, he grabbed onto it, his legs dangling below him. Relying on his upper body strength, he hauled himself upwards and swung his legs over. He fidgeted slightly to ensure it was stable and propped himself upright, looking smug. He’d successfully climbed onto the first branch.

“Now it's your turn, Kenma.” Kuroo beamed.

“No.” Kenma shook his head. The tree didn't look that safe. What if he fell? They could die. He’d much rather sit at the bottom and play video games. They were much safer.

Kuroo thought for a moment. “Hmm, okay then.” He stretched his long legs out, leaned forwards and jumped. Kenma squeaked nervously, clenching his hands and sucking in a breath. Kuroo landed safely on the grass on his hands and feet, a smirk etched across his lips.

“What did I tell you? Cats always land on their feet.” He said proudly, taking Kenma by the wrist again. “We can go play on the bridge instead and pretend we’re fighting an epic battle on a rock ledge over lava. Like in one of your games.” He said eagerly and began hurrying in that direction. Kenma allowed himself to be pulled along, silently wishing their adventure could end so he could play video games instead. _Why couldn't they just do that together?_

“Oh, I forgot my sword!” Kuroo gasped as they reached the bridge. “But I don't know where I left it.” He groaned. “We could climb the rock wall above the lava instead and sit watching it flow!”

And with that, he clambered up onto the frame, swung his legs over to the opposite side and sat atop the bridge. “It's really pretty up here, come join me.”

Kenma sighed. He _really_ didn't want to, but he supposed he could do it just this one time. Timidly, he clutched onto the top of the bridge and placed his left foot on one of the lower wooden panels. Kuroo supported him as he pulled his other foot up to join his first one, and then swung it over. His other foot followed.

Shaking slightly and panting with either fear or adrenaline, _or quite possibly both_ , he found himself sitting beside Kuroo on one side of the bridge. His friend was right – it was a pretty view; he could see across the river from a higher view than before, could admire the way the light reflected across the water’s surface and the shiny scales of surfacing fish, and see the colourful array of flowers that grew on the riverbank.

Despite the view, Kenma did not feel safe. At all. “I want to get down.” He mumbled and Kuroo nodded, helping his friend down before clambering down himself. Kenma was grateful; he didn't think he’d be able to get either up or down without him.

As he landed on the safe surface of the bridge, he realised that something felt wrong. A distraught noise escaped Kenma’s lips. The weight in his pocket – the presence of his GameBoy – was gone. He searched around frantically, looking for his fallen device. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a turquoise block floating down the river. “My GameBoy.” He sobbed, pointing towards the object. His heart was breaking. _How could he play games out and about now?_ His mother would never buy him a new one.

A splash snapped Kenma out of his thoughts. He glanced around, confused, wondering what that noise was and- _where had Kuroo gone?_ He turned his attention back to the river as a thought clicked into place. His best friend was swimming towards his GameBoy. His movements were fluid and strong, rapidly allowing him to reach his goal. Kenma watched, startled, as Kuroo snatched up his GameBoy and swam to shore. The younger boy ran towards him.

“Here you go.” Kuroo mumbled shyly, holding the GameBoy out towards his friend. His hair was pressed flat against his forehead, dripping water down his face, and Kenma would have stopped to stare at how different he looked if he’d been in any other situation. Instead, he jammed at the power button with trembling fingers, willing the device to turn on. It didn't.

Kenma tumbled onto the grass, pulled his knees to chest and started crying. Loud, ugly sobs. He couldn't help it. His GameBoy had been his friend for years and now it was broken. He was devastated.

“Kenma.” Kuroo cooed softly, wrapping his arms around him. Kenma didn't even attempt to move away, despite the fact that Kuroo was dripping river water all over him. It didn't smell great either, but Kenma didn't care. He just wanted his GameBoy to work.

“It's my fault it happened.” Kuroo muttered bitterly. “I forced you to come with me. I'm sorry.”

Kenma didn't reply. _There was nothing to say._

“But-“ Kuroo started, his tone changing to a more pleasant one. “I will buy you a new one. I may have to save for a little longer, but I could even get you the yellow limited edition one with the Pikachu!”

“Really?” Kenma sniffed, snot and tears running down his face. Kuroo laughed, wiping it away with his soggy sleeve.

“Of course! What are friends for?” He grinned, causing a strange warmth to rise in Kenma's chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Kuroken shall be the death of me. 
> 
> (=Wェ^=)
> 
> I'm really sorry for any grammatical/punctuational errors and out-of-characterness. It would be appreciated if you could kindly point any that you spot out and I'll amend it asap :3
> 
> Any, and all, feedback is appreciated (seriously, I just wanna come hug everyone) and constructive criticism is always, always welcome ^-^
> 
> Thank you so, so much for taking the time to read this and I hope that your day is as truly wonderful as you are ~ ♡


End file.
